


Turbulence

by 16_windstorm



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Could be triggering, M/M, Other, Plane Crash, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Short Story, idk - Freeform, jake kinda takes care of john, more friendly, not much of a romantic relationship in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 16:15:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5423633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/16_windstorm/pseuds/16_windstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jake has to take in a plane crash survivor (John) and has to deal with the emotional turmoil that comes with it. However he ends up making somewhat of a new friend in the process. (old old olddddd)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turbulence

**Author's Note:**

> just a lil thing i wrote a while back that i'm posting now since i'm not updating my johndave fic [Bainbridge Island](http://archiveofourown.org/chapters/12358742)
> 
> plane crash au. i'm sorry if i depicted ptsd weirdly or something. i did do some research, but i have never experienced anything first hand. also, i'm pretty young so i don't actually have much experience in writing something like this
> 
> i pretty much stole this au from @arcaneObserver's fic [Beyond the Crash](http://archiveofourown.org/works/573168/chapters/1027365) so check it out (even though it only has one chapter, was written in 2013, and was never finished.

Your name is Jake English, and you have no idea what you just killed. Looking down at the dead, furry object on the ground in front you, you don’t really feel sorry. Honestly, you have no idea what it even is! Putting your pistols back in their holsters, you kneel down to take a look at the creature, whatever it is, closer. Its face is covered with fur, just a brown ball of fluff on a body. Not caring to touch it, you stand back up and move along.  
Suddenly, a large shadow appears over-head. You look up to see a plane. That part doesn’t surprise you, planes fly over the island all the time, but what was not normal was that this one was nose-diving towards the ocean surrounding the island at an increasingly high speed. You soon come to realize that this plane was in fact crash-landing, however due to this shock you are unable to move. The gigantic splash sound of the plane hitting the water snaps you out of your thoughts and you run. You don’t know if you are running towards the aircraft or away from it, but you run. You run until the noise stops, until you are out of breath.  
You reach the edge of the forest, panting. Looking out, all you see is ocean until the brightness of the sun cuts off what lies beyond. You wait for one, two, three, four, five seconds before looking around to find any trace of the fallen aircraft. You decide to circle the island, knowing it will not take that long as you walked this path before. You eventually reach the sight of the crash, fire and smoke erupting from the back of the plane. Pieces of the aircraft are all that remain. You want to turn around and go home, but at the same time your curiosity stops you from doing so. 

 

Your name is John Egbert, and you are not scared of flying. In fact, you are quite the opposite! You always choose the window seat when boarding so you are able to look out and view the clouds and sky and imagine what the world would be like if you could fly without the assistance of a plane. You are headed for Florida, due to your father’s change in job position. You sigh and check your phone. You don’t know what time landing is scheduled for, but due to the fact that you are still looking out to the ocean there must be about an hour left.  
As heavier wind starts to pick up, you keep watch outside. It almost hypnotizes you, the way the plane seems to move in a straight line through the clouds. Suddenly, your window clouds with smoke. The plane starts to rattle, and the intercom sounds are accompanied by the noise of the passengers and flight attendants scrambling to put on oxygen masks. You do your best to stay calm, getting into brace position while the world around you almost ceases to exist.

 

You slowly walk forward. The smoke fills your lungs and you cough. Your mind tells you: “Turn back now. It’s too late. There are no survivors.” But you keep going, trying not to trip on every stick and stone in your path. You hear rustling somewhere in front of you and stop in your tracks, then run cautiously, but quickly to wherever the noise came from. What you see is horrible. There’s blood, fire, plane parts. Belongings strewn about. The tears in your eyes are not just from the smoke-filled air. You jump as you hear a loud groan close to you, probably from the same source as the rustling noise you heard before. You look down slightly and right in front of you lies a boy. Just as your grandmother taught you, you reach down and calmly check the boy’s pulse. His heart rate seems fine, which means you have to make a split second decision whether to take him or not. So, after quickly looking around for any other survivors, you pick up the child, and flee.  
You have your own house, built from the ground by your great-grandfather. You quickly open the door and set the boy down inside. After checking his pulse again, you run to get a glass of water and a medical kit. You know every supply along with it’s purpose, your grandmother taught you when you were just a child. After all, you do live on an island all by yourself.  
The boy’s injuries are actually more minor than you originally thought, and you only have to bandage up a couple of spots on his arm and leg. There could have been some possibility of a fractured wrist, but you know how to take care of broken bones. After treating these areas, you have nothing to do other than sit and wait for the boy to wake up. Pacing back and forth, you contemplate different scenarios. ‘What if he doesn’t want to be here when he wakes up?’ ‘What if he wants to see his family?’ ‘What if I become hurt, and can’t take care of him?’ All of these thoughts scare you, but you know you can’t let your mind get to you. After all, you were thinking of the worst possible outcomes. The feeling of your stomach rumbling snapped you out of your thoughts, and you realize you haven’t eaten all day. Cooking always calms you down, so you saunter over to the kitchen to make some food. 

 

You wake up with a jolt and sit upright. Gripping your head in pain, you quickly realize this is probably not a good idea. After taking a second to calm down, you notice a slight pain in some areas of your body. You look down to inspect your arms and legs. There are cuts, bruises, burns, and even a few bandages. Wondering where you are and who (what?) did this to you, you stand up and cautiously walk out of the apparent bedroom you lie in. You see a shadow in the kitchen area and freeze. This must be someone’s house. Either way, you do not feel like meeting whoever owns this place. Your instincts tell you to head for the door, but who knows what was waiting for you outside. Just then, you turn around and see the face of the mysterious figure in the kitchen.  
“Ah! I see you’re holding up just fine. You doing okay? Anything hurt?” the boy asks you. Maybe he isn’t that mysterious. He looks about fifteen, two years older than you. He seems nice. You doubt he has any intent to hurt you, but you remain alert anyway. Realizing you’re staring, you open your mouth and try to form words.

“I’m… Uh… Fine. Fine, thanks.”

“I guess I should introduce myself. I’m Jake, I’m fifteen, and I’ve kind of been taking care of you for the past… twenty-four hours? Thirty-six? Something like that, yeah.” He smiled warmly at you, but you weren’t fooled. There’s no way you would trust him yet, no matter his appearance, age, or his impressive first-aid skills. You are not that stupid, to trust someone the fist time you meet them, especially in this kind of situation.  
“I bet the food is almost ready, would you like some?” You nod instinctively. Maybe you will trust him with food. The thought of him poisoning you does cross your mind, but your stomach protests. Perhaps you are being a bit ridiculous. If he has some ulterior motives planned, then why did he patch you up with such care? He escorts you over to the small dining table where silverware and plates were already set up. He presents you with a warm, chicken-noodle-like bowl of soup. He sits down across from you with a bowl of his own and you two start to eat. He asks you some questions.

“What’s your name?”

“John. Egbert. John Egbert.” You reply awkwardly.

“Do you have any family? Pets? Or were you flying alone?” 

Wait. Flying? Flying. Plane. Crash. You look down at your injuries and the realization hits you. You were in a plane crash. And survived. It occurs to you that your mom must be dead and you look down into your soup.  
“Sorry, that was insensitive. That must be a pretty sore subject. How about I tell you about myself? Well, as I said, my name is Jake English, I’ve been living on this island for twelve years, and by myself for five. I have some friends, but they live pretty far away. I love comic books, nature, and playing the guitar.” he stated. You try to listen, but your mind is racing. Quickly realizing it must be your turn, you pipe up.  
“I’m John Egbert, and I’m from New York. I’m thirteen, and I like to play the piano and write. I want to be a comedian when I grow up.” you answer. Small talk has never appealed to you, especially when the person you are making conversation with is some eccentric island kid.  
“Ah. Interesting. I have a friend who writes, novels in fact. I’m sure you and she would get along well. Anyway, if you would like, I have an extra room for you to sleep in. No one uses it… anymore.” He looks down, but quickly up again. “But if you prefer the couch, that’s fine too.” You nod in reply again, taking note of how his voice cracked when he said “anymore.” Something must’ve happened. You take interest, but refrain from asking as this subject obviously causes him pain. 

“Whatever is fine.” You reply.

“How about I take you to go see the bedroom? You can decide then.”

“…sure”

He stands up, not bothering to clear the table. You hurry to follow him, as he is walking oddly fast. Once you reach the room, your eyes dart to the pictures on the wall. One is of a small boy, grinning happily with an older, almost elderly, woman. Jake appears behind you and picks up the frame, muttering something under his breath about how the picture is his favorite. He sets it back down again, this time face down. You tell him you would be happy to sleep here. He nods in reply and turns out the lights.  
You wake again with a jolt, sweat dripping down your forehead and cheeks. Trying to come to your senses, you focus on breathing. The vision kept playing over and over in your head, the noise, the feeling of free-falling, the fear you weren’t going to make it. You try to calm yourself but it is just too much. Everything is just too much. It seemed like just yesterday you were home, sleeping in your bed and now you are here, with this bizarre kid who you don’t even know. You are stuck here, practically alone. You had tried earlier to convince yourself that you were okay but you are not okay. Survival instincts kick in and you almost leap for the door. You rip it open with great force and dash through the hallway, making your way to the front door. You must get outside. You must escape the warm, enclosed environment of this house. You thrust the front door open and run outside.  
Your whole world instantly falls apart. You turn from aggressive and panicked to heartbroken. Tears stream down your face as you think how your life will never be the same again. This plane crash had done something to your brain- Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. That explains everything, the thoughts you’ve been having, your extreme cautiousness. You are not stupid: you know what that is. You slowly sink down to your knees, hiccupping and crying.  
You are interrupted by the sound of the front door. Not to your surprise, Jake is standing there, smiling sweetly. You want to scowl back, however you refrain. It’s not that you don’t like him, or are not grateful for his help, but honestly, you aren’t in the greatest of moods. Instead, you turn your head away from him and look up at the night sky. He walks over and sits next to you, turning his head to show an empathetic smile. You continue to ignore him and watch the stars. He takes the hint and does the same. 

He does pipe up after a minute, however.

“You know, my grandma died when I was nine. She was the woman in the photograph in the bedroom. It was hard for me, her death, I mean.”

“Hm.” You reply, acting aloof.

“What I’m trying to say, is that I feel what you’re going through. You’re happy, with a normal life and a family that loves you. And the next day, everything has changed.” he adds.  
You look over to him, the look on your face still stoic. You hope he can tell from your eyes that you’re paying attention, though.  
“Yeah, that just about covers it. Sorry for the… episode. To put it simply, I haven’t really been the same since… everything. There’s been a lot on my mind. To be honest, I’m just scared. Not knowing the outcome of this situation fills me with this overwhelming feeling that I can barely describe. Some sort of mix of anger, grief, shock, even.”  
Nodding, he replies: “Of course. And, about what just happened, it’s fine, I know you can’t help it. But I do want you to know that I’m here for you. I can’t say that I’ve been through what you have, or that I really, truly, ‘understand how you feel,’ but support during all of this is really the least I can offer.” He grins wide at you, and for the first time in a while, you smile back. Not just a polite smile, but a real one.

“Thanks. That means a lot.” 

You both continue to gaze the stars and talk about your lives. You talk about everything this time. Each word you speak is almost like a small weight lifting off of your shoulders. You feel comfortable with Jake, more than you have with many others. Then again, very few people in your life have made an effort to communicate with you in such a way. Never has someone taken a break from their own daily, chaotic life to help you sort out yours. You have made an occasion to sit down with one of your friends to have a long, meaningful conversation. This must be a normal thing for people who have suffered trauma, you guess.

 

Your name is John Egbert, and you have been living on this island for six months. Jake has been more than helpful, guiding you through the times when your thoughts managed to control you. You don’t know what life is going to throw at you next. You don’t know if you are ever going home again, or if you will see your family. But, for the first time since the crash, you are… fine. Stressful thoughts do occasionally cloud your mind, however altogether you feel less tense. As you lie on the grass, you watch the night sky (this has become something you do quite often, lately) and take time to focus on each and every twinkle of light above you. No matter where you are in the world, stars always stay the same. These stars that scatter across your sky could very well lie above your home as well. You take peace in this.


End file.
